


Like A Prayer

by LilLayneeLoo



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Death, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt Clark Kent, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Kind Of Graphic, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, One Scene Might Be, Protective Clark Kent, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilLayneeLoo/pseuds/LilLayneeLoo
Summary: He surveyed Bruce's face, then, the sallow pallor of his skin almost glowing white in contrast to the deep black of his mask. He could have sworn he saw a twitch in the older hero's face, but couldn't find it again. His body had gone cold anyway.There was no hope.Bruce was dead, and Clark had killed him.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	Like A Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little thing I wrote.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Thanks for your support. As always, you're all fantastic.
> 
> -Laynee

"No no no... Oh no...No...oh no...Rao, please no…"

Superman was on his knees in front of a body; a limp, unmoving, unconscious body in a black cape and cowl. A large tear was visible in the front of the suit, singed at the edges where the Kryptonian's own heat vision had burned through material and flesh.

Having watched Batman die, Darkseid temporarily lifted the physical control he had placed Superman under, launching a boom tube and vowing to return shortly to finish his mission, ultimately leaving his least favourite hero to face the destruction he had caused, including the death of his most trusted ally and most true friend. 

Clark could vaguely hear Diana calling out to him, but his head was spinning too fast to hone in on her voice, to follow it, call out, and lead her to their prison behind the rubble. He leaned forward over Batman's body, either oblivious of the warm blood spilling over his abdomen and onto his hands, chest, and face, or too delirious with grief to care. It was all he could do, to press his body close to the cooling one in front of him.

He cried loudly, uncharacteristically vulnerable for an invulnerable man, the sobs wracking his entire body and erupting from his lips in the occasional agonizing scream, the grief and horror of what he had done pushing him dangerously close to a complete loss of control.

Loss of control was what had gotten him into this mess...had gotten Batman...Bruce…

"I'm sorry… I'm so so sorry...B...Bruce...I didn't mean… I didn't mean to…I'm so sorry..."

His cries were peppered with deep and desperate breaths, the gripping twist of guilt in his lungs and stomach preventing him from breathing properly. His hands shook even more violently than his shoulders and back as he sobbed over his friend's body. 

He had tried to fight it, his mind in control but his body not. He had been conscious of every punch thrown and every brick and bone broken. He was especially so when he unwillingly turned toward his companion, the heat erupting from behind his eyes in a relentless blaze that seared through Kevlar, and deeper; through flesh. He remembered how it looked; how it smelled.

He turned away rapidly after several minutes, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the wet concrete beneath them. He had never been ill before, and felt as though his body was rejecting him. It was almost as though it recognized his mind and soul as a parasite too weak to control it, to stop it from…

He cried until nothing left his eyes, and even then, remained keeled over Bruce's chest and listened to the silence that permeated the once comforting beat of the Batman's heart.

"I'm so sorry, Bruce," he whispered. "I never meant to hurt you...I should have stopped them...I should have fought harder...I should have done so much...I should have told you...I should have told you that I love y-" 

He was cut off by the characteristic sound of another boom tube forming in front of him. He didn't bother to look up. From the moment a heavy footstep touched the ground his body was forcibly taken from him again. His brain screamed in panic and despair as Darkseid and Steppenwolf, together, forced him off of his knees and to his feet, his head hung low and aimed at the body below him.

He surveyed Bruce's face, then, the sallow pallor of his skin almost glowing white in contrast to the deep black of his mask. He could have sworn he saw a twitch in the older hero's face, but couldn't find it again. His body had gone cold anyway. There was no hope. Bruce was dead, and Clark had killed him.

Darkseid laughed as he commanded Clark to step forward and bend, sliding one hand beneath Bruce's knees and the other under his arm. He pulled his body up off the ground, using all of his remaining willpower to try and fight off the mind control. 

He might have had a chance had Darkseid returned alone, but the god of Apokolips was smarter than that. With both he and Steppenwolf blocking Clark's free will, he stood no chance.

Clark could feel his stomach twisting again, and wanted nothing more than to lay Bruce's body down so that he could vomit the rest of its contents up, but unless Darkseid allowed it, he couldn't even be sick. 

"Carry him, Kryptonian," Darkseid boomed, Steppenwolf laughing at his side. "Carry the Batman back to your team, and show them what the great Superman has accomplished."

Tears streamed down his face as he walked forward, each step more agonizing than the last. He couldn't look down at Bruce. He couldn't close his eyes or wipe away the evidence of his sorrow. He couldn't speak or sob, or even plead with the god for whom he was playing pawn. He couldn't try to listen for the faintest of heartbeats, or try to reverse the damage he had inflicted.

He could only breathe and carry the product of his unchecked power, step-by-step-by- _ agonizing- _ step.

Steppenwolf destroyed the rubble that had encased them in the tunnel mere moments before Bruce's death, clearing the path for Clark to emerge. His tears had ceased; Steppenwolf's renewed focus now overriding even his capacity to cry. 

He was emotionless-- stone-faced --when he emerged from the tunnel, the Batman lying dead in his arms for all the world to see.

He could not react to the gasps and shouts of not only his fellow leaguers, but of the citizens of Metropolis as well. The shock of the knowledge that their leader, their paragon of truth and justice, had killed a fellow hero washed over every person present, like an impassable wave of anguish and disbelief.

If he could have, Clark would have been sick a third time.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the sudden red glow of J'onn's eyes, the Martian trying to connect either to Clark or Bruce, or maybe to both of them. He was forced to watch as Darkseid moved his hand and effectively threw J'onn the length of two city blocks, unable to react save for a silent prayer that the hit to the Martian’s head had merely knocked him unconscious...that it hadn't killed him too.

"Look at him," Darkseid called to the crowd of heroes and civilians. "Observe your hero. Your _go_ _ d _ . Driven to a murderous rage...taking the life of another of humanity's allies in  _ cold blood.  _ So strong, but so weak. So powerful, and yet powerless under my command. Foolish and naïve. A  _ disgrace _ ."

Diana's tears flowed freely, as did Wally's. John was stone-faced, unmoving, and seemingly emotionless. Shayera's face was fixed in a cold, unrelenting glare.

Clark could sense that _they_ knew the truth, at least. He and Bruce had been companions. Partners.  _ Friends _ . But the loss of Batman was theirs to share...he had been all of that to all of them, maybe more.

He was their teacher. Their beacon. Their leader.

_ He was definitely more than that to me _ , Clark thought, still fighting with the control holding his body still.  _ The most important person in my life. The only person I’ve ever truly loved. _

Batman. Bruce...he had meant so much to him. So much to the league, and to the world.

And Clark had killed him.

More tears escaped Clark’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure if it was a loosening of Steppenwolf’s psychic grip on him, or if it was simply his own overwhelming emotion. It didn’t matter, really--seconds later, the tears ceased again.

Darkseid's monologue continued to Clark’s left, and in front of him, Diana's hand slowly moved to the hilt of her sword.

He watched as the expression on her face morphed from grief to utter outrage. It might have been his imagination, but Clark could have sworn he saw her eyes change colour, from bright blue, to rich amber, then to a ferocious and unyielding black. 

He had seen these motions; watched her reach for her weapon and followed the path of her gaze the best that he good; and yet the moment she drew her sword and lunged toward Steppenwolf with a powerful battle cry, slicing cleanly through his neck before either he or Darkseid even had the chance to react, still took Clark completely by surprise.

Or maybe he was simply distracted by the sudden reanimation of the body in his arms and the push of a gloved hand off his chest. 

_ Or, by the return of a strong and steady beating that hummed, as it always had, like a prayer, through Clark's ears and straight to his own racing heart. _

A strong gasp left his chest as he and Bruce both reclaimed control of their bodies, Steppenwolf's beheading officially releasing Clark from Darkseid's control.

Clark roared with emotion, a flood of confusion, relief, and white hot fury enveloping him and forcing him forward to capitalize on the god's momentary turmoil. 

A punch to the head, packed with the most power Clark had ever mustered in his life, sent Darkseid hurtling toward a building. He crashed and fell to the ground, his furious and confused mumbling echoing across the city block.

Bruce, badly injured but  _ apparently _ still alive, began to rapidly fire Batarangs at him, and though the explosions did not significantly harm him, they caused enough of a distraction that Diana could entrap him in her lasso. Clark launched himself forward, landing another powerful punch on his chest and listening to the satisfying crunch of Darkseid's rocky flesh beneath his knuckles. He flew around the god's head, laying arms on him as much as possibly while Diana retrieved her sword. 

"Flash, now!" He heard and saw Bruce yell, his hands clutching his abdomen and his voice shining through the mess of noise around Clark and making his heart stutter. Below him, he watched a red streak swipe past Darkseid's legs and back to where Batman was standing. Wally handed something to Bruce, and somehow Clark knew to throw one more punch and then back off.

He was far enough away to see Diana lunge forward, her sword plunging to its hilt in Darkseid's chest. At the same time, Bruce pressed a button on the mother box and a boom tube opened behind the god just in time for Diana to push him off the end of her blade and through the portal. 

It closed, and just like that the street fell silent.

Time moved inexplicably slow, from the moment the crowds of citizens began to cheer to the moment Clark met Bruce's gaze. 

J'onn had woken up and returned to where the rest of the league was standing, save for Clark, who was floating motionless almost thirty feet in the air. 

The Martian immediately stepped toward Batman, pulling at his cape and making to tourniquet Bruce's torso with it, but Bruce brushed him off, still staring at and now taking unsteady steps toward Clark.

When Clark realized what was happening, he moved too, lowering himself gently to the ground and somehow finding his own footing. 

Seconds later they had met, Batman's arms thrown tightly over Superman's shoulders, the physical force of the hug pulling Bruce off of the ground and into Clark's embrace.

Clark was too shocked to cry, slowly processing the warmth of his bare skin, the rapidly clotting blood no longer spilling rapidly from his chest, and the tiny heart rate blocker slightly dislodged but still tucked neatly under Bruce's arm. 

An overwhelming wave of stimuli meant Clark barely registered the hot press of Batman's lips firmly against his own, thousands of unspoken words pouring silently from their mouths and overflowing the new form of contact with love and passion.

There were whistles and shouts, and a few people clapped as Bruce finally pulled away. His voice was weak,  _ pained _ , but clear as day to Clark.

"I'm so sorry....I knew he wasn’t finished, that he was coming back, and I...I hoped he wouldn't force you under his control again if he thought you had killed me."

Clark tugged Bruce toward him again, feeling physically unable to get close enough to the Bat's armour.

"That should've killed you, Bruce. Rao, you're alive...but I...I killed you! My vision...I didn’t mean to...I cut through your suit...and your chest...B, how are you alive?"

"The suit saved me. It's heat resistant. Normally fireproof, but apparently not entirely secure against heat vision. I'll need at least thirty stitches and some aloe vera, but other than that, I'm alright."

Clark pulled him in and kissed him again, tenderly this time, and Bruce kissed back with nothing more than a matching level of urgency.

Clark opened his mouth to talk when they had stopped, but Bruce spoke instead.

" _Years_ , Clark," he said softly. "It's been years, and I would have told you sooner if I'd have known you felt it too."

"Six months after we started working together regularly. That night on the roof when you brought me Alfred's pie. It hit me like a truck, and I'd have told you too if you'd given me any sign."

Clark pulled him in a final time, no kiss, just simply pressed their bodies completely up against each other.

"I thought I'd killed you, Bruce," he whispered into his temple. "I thought I had killed the only person that I'll ever truly love."

"Are you kidding?" Wally said approaching them from the side." Batman's not going out that easily. And by the way,  _ finally _ you’ve told each other. We were starting to think you’d never admit it yourselves, and that we would have to-”

“ _ Wally _ ,” Diana said sternly behind him. “Now is not the time or place for gloating. Batman needs medical care.”

Bruce stepped out of their embrace, and looked down at his stomach. Clark bent down and very gently touched the burnt fabric, pulling it aside cautiously to reveal the wound below. 

To his surprise, the bleeding had mostly stopped. There was still a rather prominent line of crimson, thick globs of semi-congealed blood very slowly leaking from the base of the wound, but for the most part, it seemed to be…

“Cauterized,” Bruce breathed. “The whole thing, except the very deepest part of it. Like a hot knife.”

More tears threatened to spill from Clark’s eyes as he surveyed the damage he had inflicted, conscious of Bruce’s gaze on the top of his head as he did so. He forced them away, shifting his vision to x-ray in an attempt to establish whether or not he had done serious internal damage.

He didn’t see anything that was instantly alarming, which should have been reassuring. After everything they’d been through, though, Clark didn’t trust himself. Bruce raised a hand and laid it gently on Clark’s shoulder.

“Take me to Alfred,” he said, quietly. “He’ll know how to help me, Clark. I’m going to be okay.”

Clark's face twisted with emotion, and he wrapped his arms around Bruce again. He pulled him gently but firmly to his chest, then kicked off the ground, barely nodding to the other members of the league as he set his sights on Gotham.

“I love you,” he murmured to Bruce, resting his nose against the top of Bruce’s hair. “I feel like I have to say that again, given everything that just happened.”

“I love you,” Bruce said in return. He smiled, sincerely but weakly, and Clark gave a knowing nod.

There was so much to be said between them, so many unacknowledged feelings that were now slowly escaping into the evening air. 

But as long as Clark got Bruce to Alfred in time--which, given their present location, seemed very likely--they’d have plenty of time to tell each other how they felt.

As he listened to the steady beating of Bruce’s heart in his arms, Clark sincerely hoped they would have the rest of their lives.


End file.
